


a collection of stones

by blueberrytea



Category: A Royal Affair (2012), Ella Enchanted - All Media Types, Hannibal (TV)
Genre: #EatTheRare Fest, Char is an actual disney princess, M/M, hannigram AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueberrytea/pseuds/blueberrytea
Summary: A troublesome, naive prince sent to hide in a lakeside villa. A gentle, cultivated doctor with a checkered past. An unlikely friendship that may, possibly, make things right again.





	1. the fall

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! It's been a while. I'm still alive. I'm also completely infatuated with this pairing! I can't promise length, historical accuracy, or completion of this little story, but at least it's here and adding to the frustratingly short list of fic for these two.  
> Written for #EatTheRare fest 2016.  
> Enjoy and feel free to chat me up on tumblr at @blue-berry-tea!

_1773_

Prince Charmont bent to pick up a stone from the shore, admiring it as he straightened up again. It was smooth, reddish-white, with a slight shimmer to its surface; a deep orange color ran along an L-shaped shelf on one side. Char ran a finger over the shelf, pleased at how the stone hugged his touch. He quickly slipped it into his coat pocket and continued to stroll along the lake, blinking into the early September wind.

It had been almost three months since he’d been sent to the villa. He’d enjoyed the freedom from responsibility for only the first six days before realizing that the freedom to roam from his living quarters far outweighed other forms. He’d taken to slipping away on long walks to collect stones for the past several weeks, as the endlessly changing world outside seemed the only thing that Char hadn’t tired of.

The bark of the fallen tree was damp from earlier rain. Char relished its cool slickness on his fingertips as he trailed a hand over its surface. Lowering himself to peer into the den that the roots provided, Char gave a short whistle and reached into his left pocket for a small piece of meat. A tiny orange snout poked its way up from the recesses of the roots, dark nose quivering.

“Good morning, Rondo,” Char cooed, holding out the fox’s breakfast. Rondo snatched it out of his hand, tail wagging at a rapid pace, and ate quietly. A laugh bubbled up from Char’s throat. “Careful, you almost took my finger off!”

Rondo paid him no mind.

“Let’s see that leg,” Char murmured, kneeling to take a closer look at the fox’s leg. There were no more blood spots on the bandage today, but Rondo was still limping and seemed to be drained of energy. Char frowned as he retrieved a fresh bandage and gloves from yet another pocket.

As if sensing his agenda, Rondo looked warily up from her food. With a sigh, Char pulled on the thick gloves and slowly reached out to her--flinching as she nipped at his fingers. He tentatively stroked her shoulder, slowly working down to her injured leg. He’d done this many times before; why Rondo was acting out at the moment was a mystery to him.

Char wrapped the old bandage in his gloves and shoved the bundle back in his pocket. He watched Rondo lick at the replacement dressing for a beat before whispering a farewell and making his way back to the path.

It was on one of these very walks that Char had discovered Rondo as a pup in July. She’d been nestled in the roots of the fallen tree, bleeding from one of her back legs and Char had felt morally obligated to take action. He snuck her into the villa, where one of the servants—Harriet—had once raised a pair of fox kits when she was a girl. Char begged for her help. She eventually agreed with the one condition of weekly updates, although the array of stressful moments had still been in high numbers. The two released Rondo back to her den after a few weeks and Char continued visiting the small fox, if only for his own loneliness than hers.

A breeze nipped at the tips of Char’s ears; he reached up to pinch one between his thumb and forefinger. He supposed it was a bit chilly to be going out without an overcoat, but something about the bite in the air was irresistible--a pleasant shock contrasting warm fireplaces and blankets.

Char made his way closer to the water once more, spotting a large, dappled rock that sat just beyond the surface of the shallows. The lake was calm, save for a few ripples that were teased across its surface by the wind. Char’s hand ached as he eased it into the frigid water.

After hastily retrieving the rock, Char stood quite quickly, lost his balance, reeled backward, forward, and promptly tumbled into the lake. He propped himself up with a gasp and sat there for a moment, lungs expanding stutteringly, body quickly growing numb, before his brain began working again and forced him to frantically crawl out of the water. The dappled stone seemed to laugh at him as he stumbled back up to the path.

The walk back to the villa was long and rueful. When Char reached the door—which suddenly seemed much bigger and scarier than usual—he considered climbing back up to the balcony of the library, but upon further consideration decided that exerting himself in such a state wouldn’t be very sensible.

“Good heavens, what have you gotten yourself into?”

Char winced at his aunt’s exclamation as he walked through the door.

“I went for a walk,” came his only reply. He braced himself for a verbal lashing. “And I tripped and fell into the lake.”

“Your Highness, it is _imperative_ that you stay within sight of the villa--it’s my duty to make certain that you don’t endanger yourself in such ways! Did I not make myself clear that you were not to go traipsing off on your own in this weather and be gone for half the morning?”

“You made yourself quite clear.”

“There are many privileges you’ve been given here—you should be grateful instead of constantly disobeying and having your own way.”

“I understand and I apologize,” Char chattered. “I should have asked permission. I know myself to be selfish and impulsive at times and for that I’m sorry.” He was desperate to run upstairs and change into a dry set of clothes, but common sense kept him rooted to the spot.

Aunt Margaret sighed tiredly. “I can’t help but worry about you.”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.” Char swayed suddenly, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

“Are you all right, my prince?”

“Oh, yes, I’m just waterlogged. I feel fine, really.”

“Nonsense. I’ll have a hot bath drawn for you.” Aunt Margaret began to lead him toward the stairs. “Go and get yourself out of those clothes.”

“I assure you, I’m perfectly all right,” Char insisted, rosy-cheeked, and proceeded to teeter precariously before toppling over backward.

~*~

The prince shivered as another cool compress was laid on his forehead, chills scraping at the inside of his skin as if trying to escape his scalding core.

“Shh,” the servant pleaded, despite Char seldom making a peep. “A physician has been sent for. There’s no need to worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Char assured her. “I’ll be fine.” The servant clearly didn’t agree, as she proceeded to fret and shush and meddle, looking even more distressed than before.

Char made the clever decision to keep his mouth shut.

The door opened with a soft clank, allowing Aunt Margaret to occupy the doorframe.

“The physician has arrived,” she announced, then spotted Char’s consciousness. “Ah, Your Highness, you’re awake!”

Char smiled drowsily, giving her a small nod.

“I’ll show the physician in.” With that, Aunt Margaret retreated once more to meet the doctor.

Suddenly Char’s skin felt bitterly cold, and he attempted to motion for the servant to remove the cloth from his forehead. However, she merely adopted a frightened expression and flitted about his face uselessly, unsure of how to go on.

“May we be alone?”

Char started at the new voice in the room; the door was cracked open and a man, the doctor, was standing at the foot of his bed.

“Of course,” Aunt Margaret replied, and, ushering the servant out before her, gently shut the door.

“Good evening, Your Highness,” the man greeted. “I’m Doctor James Lawrence. I heard you’re running quite the fever.”

“Is that what they told you?” Char grinned despite exhaustion as the doctor stepped around to the side of the bed. “I suppose it’s true, then. How do you do?”

The man smiled good-naturedly, setting a large bag down on the floor.

“Quite well, thank you. And you?”

“A bit warm.” He blinked hazily up at the man, who was dressed in dark clothes with his hair tied back. He had such a peculiar way about him; Char found himself captivated.

“Let’s see to that, shall we?”

Char nodded, drowsy, as the man removed the cloth from his forehead.

He next awoke to the quiet voices of his aunt and the physician filtering in from just outside the door. Listening intently, he could pick out the man’s curling tones from their whispers. He was mesmerized by the faint memory of hands on his face and fingers on his wrist, the scratch of a quill on paper, low hums borne of concentration permeating his half-sleep.

The door to his chamber creaked gently open and Aunt Margaret poked her head in, gaze finding the prince under rumpled blankets. Char quickly shut his eyes again, and, lulled by darkness, was not awake to hear the door swing shut.


	2. antics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Lawrence returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Hi. I'm still here--and yes, I know I said I'd continue that Murphamy fic, but this keeps drawing me in! Dialogue galore!! Anyhow, again, I know nothing about 18th century medicine. If you see any glaring mistakes, feel free to correct!  
> Also, important: I made some edits to the last chapter. I know it's been a while since I updated this, so you might as well reread anyway. If not, I think the references to the changes in this chapter are pretty self-explanatory. :)

“Good afternoon, Your Highness.”

Char blinked in the low light. A few strips of sun from outside were peeking out from behind the curtains of his chamber, hinting at a fair-weathered day.

Aunt Margaret was sewing in the chair next to Char’s bed, eyeing him meticulously.

“Good...afternoon,” Char replied hoarsely. He rubbed at his eyes, attempting to prop himself up on his elbows. His aunt rushed over instantly, laying a hand on his arm.

“Your Highness, I would think it wise to take care with moving about today.”

Char laughed softly as Aunt Margaret shot him a deadly look.

“I feel fine.”

“You’re still quite sick, my prince.” Aunt Margaret bent down to pull the blankets around Char further up. “You need lots of bed rest today, that’s what Doctor Lawrence said.”

“Doctor…Doctor Lawrence?” Curling syllables flicked around the edge of Char’s recollection.

“Yes, and he’s coming around soon to check on you, so I’d advise to do as he says.” Aunt Margaret’s hand found his shoulder as she stood. “I have some things to attend to. I will send for a servant to keep an eye on you.”

Char wriggled restlessly. “No, thank you. I would rather just go back to sleep.”

“Then a watchful eye won’t be any bother.” Aunt Margaret raised an intimidating brow. “Enjoy your rest, Your Highness.”

“I shall.”

After Aunt Margaret had left, Char drew his blankets back, swinging around to rest his feet on the floor. His forehead was still warm when he rested a palm on it, but it was no longer scalding. He wiped sweaty hands on his knees, blinking at the yellow light that sliced through the curtain gaps.

“Lovely,” Char murmured to the empty room. It was quite unusual for the weather to be so nice in mid-September. Char smiled. Maybe Rondo could finally—

_Rondo!_

Dread adhered to Char’s chest. She had been acting strange yesterday; Char was worried that her infection was returning. It was imperative that he checked on her, or else she might—

Footsteps in the hall scattered his thoughts. He hurriedly swung his feet back up on the bed, scrambling to pull the covers up. His breath was still coming in quick bursts when a knock came on the door.

“Come in,” Char called. He wiped some sweat from the side of his face.

Dr. Lawrence opened the door, peering in at the prince. Char paused, startled.

“Hello again, Your Highness.” A little smile rested on the doctor’s mouth; Char felt himself returning it.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Lawrence.” Char’s eyes followed the doctor as he sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought my aunt was sending a maid up?”

“It seems I arrived at just the right time. I caught her on my way upstairs.”

“I see.” Char nodded, relieved. “I…apologize for my manners last night. I assure you, falling asleep mid-conversation is not a regular occurrence.”

Dr. Lawrence’s smile widened.

“Apology accepted, Your Highness. I assumed you meant well.” His eye twitched as if he desired to wink--a thought that made Char’s cheeks even hotter--and then held up a hand, gesturing to Char’s forehead. “May I?”

“By all means.” Dr. Lawrence’s hand was cool against Char’s skin.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Better. I mean…still ill, but not… _deathly_ ill.”

“That speaks of progress.”

“Yes, I suppose.” Char couldn’t help fidgeting. “When do you suppose I’ll be able to go out again?”

The doctor raised his eyebrows at Char’s query, removing his hands.

“Two days. Maybe three. You managed to acquire what could become a serious case of influenza.”

Sunlight taunted Char from the window. He bit his lip.

“I must admit, I have been keeping a small secret.”

“Oh?” Dr. Lawrence rested two fingers at his wrist.

“Yes. My aunt already disapproves of my walks, but she doesn’t know that…I…” Char paused, collecting himself. “It’s very important that I go out today.”

“And why might that be?” Mischief and mirth danced across Dr. Lawrence’s face. Char let out an exasperated breath.

“There may be an injured fox that I’ve been taking care of and I’m worried that she might be contracting an infection.”

“Animals are dangerous, Your Highness.”

“And I’ve been exceedingly careful. I’ve had help from a friend among the servants; she once raised two fox kits from infancy. I wear gloves every time I—” Char stopped, eyes wide.

“I suggest that you calm down, Your Highness. Your body’s been through quite the—”

“Oh, hell.”

The doctor stopped.

“What’s the matter?”

“My gloves…” Char squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head fall back into his pillows. “My gloves and the old bandage, they’re still in my pocket!” He laid a hand on Dr. Lawrence’s arm and looked him in the eye. “I need your help. If my aunt gets word of this, she’ll never let me out of the house again!”

“I’m not sure—”

“You don’t understand! I’d die of boredom if I was shut up in the villa all day. There’s nowhere to go, nothing to do. I’d go mad!” Char tightened his grip on the doctor’s arm. “Please? I’ll be forever in your debt.”

Dr. Lawrence sighed, pursed his lips, and said, “What can I do?”

A grin consumed Char’s face immediately. “Oh, thank you! I’ll repay you somehow, you have my word.”

The doctor’s expression was cracked by a small smile.

“I need to go down to the laundry room,” Char continued, “and find a servant called Harriet. She’s the one helping me and she will be able to make sure my aunt doesn’t find the bandage.”

“The staff won’t wonder why you’re up and about?”

“We may have to…evade them. Slightly. And my aunt.”

“Your Highness…” Dr. Lawrence looked wary.

“I’m so sorry to put you through all of this, but it’s of the utmost importance. Please, I beg you.”

“No need for dramatics, Your Highness. How about I send her up to you on my way out? That sound a great deal easier.”

“Oh.” Char’s face fell. “I suppose you’re right. But what if you can’t find her? What if—”

“I will find her, Your Highness.” Dr. Lawrence placed a hand on top of Char’s own. “No need to worry.”

Char coughed in surprise, causing the doctor to glance at him with caution. “Thank you,” he said, after recovering. He let go of the doctor’s arm. “Truly. I’m sure I wouldn’t be so tolerant of my, er… _antics_ if I were in your place.”

“I’ve seen quite a few antics in my time, Your Highness.” The teeth in Dr. Lawrence’s grin were pointed and slightly crooked. Char liked them immensely.

“Please,” he said, “call me Char.”

The doctor laughed, a deep and joyful sound.

“You’re most informal,” he replied, cheeky grin tugging at his features.

“I was never fond of formality. It always gets in the way.”

“Well, then. I’ll respect your wishes.”

There was something melancholy about the doctor that Char couldn’t quite place. It was so unobtrusive and well-hidden that Char almost missed it, yet...

Dr. Lawrence began to roll down his sleeves.

“Well, you seem to have made quite the turnaround from yesterday. Nearly miraculous, I’d say. Even so, I’ll be back tomorrow to—”

There was a knock at the door.

Char forced himself to remain calm. He threw a nervous glance at the doctor that was met with a questioning gaze.

“Come in,” Char called.

“Char,” Harriet hissed as she hurriedly slipped through the door. “Are you aware of—oh, hello.”

Char let out more air than he thought himself capable of holding.

“Harriet, thank goodness it’s you.” The prince motioned to the doctor, who sat still on the edge of the bed. “This is Dr. Lawrence. I told him everything. Actually, I was just about to send him down to see about the, er…laundry?”

Harriet held up Char’s gloves in her right hand.

“Oh, you found them already! It gave me a good fright—”

“Do you realize how catastrophic this could have turned out to be?” Harriet was red in the face and appeared to be shaking. “Lady Margaret would’ve lined us all up, and—goodness, you know how terrible I am at lying—I would’ve been fired!”

“Shall I go?” Dr. Lawrence looked poised for the door. “I assume I’m no longer needed.”

“Oh!” Char had forgotten about the doctor sitting quietly beside him. “I’m so sorry. Yes, I think that matters have been mended. I owe a great thanks to you. Consider me in your debt.”

The doctor laughed.

“I’m afraid I haven’t done anything to warrant such a pledge.”

“You have in my book.” Char’s felt himself reddening. “Now, you must go. My aunt will be suspicious of so much time spent here.”

“Not to mention my being in your quarters,” Harriet piped up anxiously. “We have to hurry.”

Dr. Lawrence straightened his shirt as he stood.

“Of course. I’ve left some pills with Lady Margaret for the fever and I'll be back once more tomorrow to check on you.” He gave Char a pointed look. “Bed rest. No… _antics_. Understood?”

Char nodded. The doctor made his way to the door.

“Good day, Your Highness.”

“Char.”

Dr. Lawrence smiled again.

“…Char.”

Silence settled over the room until the door was shut.

Harriet folded her arms.

“Antics?”

The blush Char had been beating back suddenly returned.

“Yes.” Char’s heart was beating at a record pace. His insides felt squishy. He forced away a smile. “Now, can you make it out to Rondo today or not?”


End file.
